


Of Many Devices

by Schmuzz



Series: Of Many Devices [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5919997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan, a simple blacksmith on a small island, pays a tribute to the god of fire in the hopes of receiving a blessing upon his small workshop. Things… don’t go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Many Devices

**Author's Note:**

> A super spur of the moment Greek Mythology au; Michael is Hephaestus. I searched weather averages and typical crops on the Lemnos Island but that’s about it. Big thanks to my friend insanelycrazymad for offhandedly mentioning this idea and forcing me to finally put out some new myan fic!

I.                

The new year began, still in the midst of winter and its consistent chill. It made Ryan thankful he had sought out blacksmithing as a trade, laboring with fire and metal. His mentor had given Ryan his home and workshop upon his death, and he had little to fear of the cold so long as his hearth was lit. This was a blessing itself, but his mentor had still passed too early for his liking. Even though he was no longer the boy he had been upon starting his apprenticeship, Ryan was anxious as to how he would fare running the entire shop on his own. He figured the best course of action would be to make the trek to the other side of the island, and visit the statue in the mountains.

In Athens, Hephaestus had a temple for worshippers to visit, and perhaps that would be a grander place to pray for a blessing. But the god of fire, of artisans, of metal workers, of blacksmiths like him had claimed Lemnos, the small island where Ryan lived and worked, as his favorite mortal dwelling place. The people of Lemnos had taken this fact with great pride, and over time, the name Hephaestus fell out of use for them, their desire to combine all that the god was into one word, which meshed and evolved with their dialect and produced ‘Michael’. Some people even said that it was the god himself that told them his name, but of course Ryan had no way of knowing for sure. Hephaestus or Michael, he was beloved and cherished, and Ryan wished to please him any way he could.

He spent the entire harvest season forging his offering; a sword made of the sleekest metal, laid with gold and silver from the fuller and running down to the hilt. The grip was made of leather, painstakingly softened without showing its wear, molded to fit a man’s fingers perfectly. The blade was sharpened and shined so one could see their own reflection as clear as if looking into a pool of water, and when Ryan swung the blade in practice it was as though he could slice apart the air itself. It was his proudest work, and he traveled for three days, grass and beach turning into craggy rocks as he approached Michael’s statue along the side of Mosychlos.

He laid the sword at the idol’s feet – the carved likeness was much bigger than a man, of course, and the weapon only looked to be a long knife in comparison. Ryan prayed for a blessing on his business, for future success in the new year. He pressed a kiss to Michael’s foot and left, seeking out his home and livelihood.

As for the god, he had gone into the mortal plane from Olympus, examining and answering the many prayers his followers brought to him. Prospering business, well-cast iron, armor that would not fail; he was happy to oversee to the desires of his believers; his skills were readily sought on Olympus by the other immortals, but humans were much more patient with him, and he always enjoyed the sense of peace they brought with a sort of detached contentment. He departed the city and travelled to Crete and Sicily and other lands still, finally coming to rest at his favorite island.

Michael was honestly surprised to see a sword at his statue there. Of course offerings were normal, and he had been presented with many blades, ornamental mostly. But this one! He examined it from every angle, and swung it, finding its grip natural and comforting to hold; it was not merely functional but artful, as well, and it sung with the hopes of a man who merely wished that his first year as a graduated blacksmith would go well.

Michael took the sword and put it in his sheath, and decided to set out and give the man his approval in person. The expertly made sword called to its creator in such a way that Michael merely let himself be led to this master blacksmith, taking in the sights of the land he loved as he went. He imagined the craftsman must be older, perhaps a hermit, if he could forge something so spectacular…

Around him the birds sang to one another, and the roar of the ocean was carried up to him by salted winds.

 

 II.

It was many days after Ryan’s pilgrimage. He had some commissions, but only rudimentary orders; nothing nearly as demanding as his gift to the god of fire had been. But it was evening now, and with the entrance to his shop shut tight he began the tedious task of cleaning his work benches. Only to be interrupted when he heard a knock at the door. Confused as to who could be calling – the neighborhood he lived in tended to retire early, and he had few friends that would call on him in the evening – he went to the door and opened it warily.

Before him stood a young man with a hood that did little to conceal his features: he possessed thick brown curls and wide, dark eyes; he was slight but muscular, and freckles dusted his cheeks. He was incredibly handsome, nearly ethereal, and Ryan found himself at a loss for words as he took in the stranger’s appearance further. The robes he wore were tailored perfectly to fit his body, and they revealed a rank with some sort of wealthy background; he wasn’t a native, Ryan knew that. But there was also something terribly familiar about him. The realization slowly emerged from the depths of his mind as the smaller man stared back at him.

“…You look so much different than the statue in the mountains,” Ryan said numbly, throwing the door wide in invitation. “Michael, please, come in,”

The god smiled. “I’m glad you recall my true name,” he said, stepping inside and nudging the door closed with his foot. “I haven’t said it in quite some time. No one else remembers.”

“But this is your favorite place to dwell, aside from Olympus, of course,” Ryan said in a hurry, resuming his cleaning with embarrassed fervor – what would this immortal think of the state of his shop! How could he let it get so ghastly? He quickly swept up the unused metal shavings from the day, and placed his tools back on their respective hooks. Michael watched, more amused than anything.

The blacksmith _was_ a grown man, but definitely not old, not even forty. His beard and hair were short and dark blonde, and he still retained a youthful face. This sort of profession required strength, and the mortal’s robes couldn’t hide the broad shoulders and muscled arms within. The human’s entire body held a great power and splendor, and Michael was lured by each passing gaze the man threw his way; he did, after all, have mesmerizing blue eyes, as light as a shallow, untroubled sea.

Finally, the other seemed to calm down, and the shop was spotless. “What do they call you?” Michael asked, leaning against a workbench.

“Just Ryan, um, my god.”

Michael laughed, though the clumsy humility the craftsman displayed drew him in further. “Please, no need for that. You should only call me Michael, you have my respect, you know. I came to give you my blessings in person.” With that he drew the sword Ryan had gifted him from its sheath, and set it on the table. “I haven’t seen something so elegant and well made since, well, the last time I went to my own workshop,” he looked up at Ryan, gauging his reaction.

The human _blushed_ , his entire face turning a rosy pink. He nearly hid his behind his hands like a boy; this human was making it quite difficult for Michael to remain politely impartial.

“Michael, thank you – I, I had been struggling with the death of my mentor. He was, we –” Ryan shook his head as if to clear it. “He taught me everything, and left me everything, you see. He went before his time, before I could grow more confident in my abilities. I felt that I needed a miracle to continue on my own, as this island has so many men like me, and –” Michael stepped forward and placed both arms on Ryan’s shoulders.

“There are no men like you, no one as skilled. Truly, if there were, I would be in their homes instead.” He looked intently at Ryan, eyes drifting down to his red mouth for a moment before taking a step back. “It would be unthinkable to not aid you,” he adds. “You will have prosperity and success, Ryan. But…”

“What is it? Anything, name it and I’ll do it,” Michael had to hold back a smirk at the wording; a handsome man begging him simply was too appealing.

“Let me pass the evening with you. I wish to talk as if we were two friends.” Ryan remained quiet for some time, and Michael feared he had been too forward – most gods didn’t ask to be house guests. But then Ryan agreed, looking genuinely excited at the prospect of entertaining Michael. He beckoned him to the back of the workshop and opened a door there, leading him into his small home on the other side.

The house was one large room, most of it being the kitchen. Ryan sat Michael down at the small table by the fireside and set to work, preparing cuts of lamb and roasting tomatoes and cheese into spiced barely bread. He also procured a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for the two of them, though he admitted he had never been one to drink much. “I’m sorry, this isn’t anything compared to what you could get somewhere else –” Ryan said meekly, after laying out the food before the pair of them.

“Don’t even think of that,” Michael replied. The meal was simple but delicious, and the conversation that flowed between them was far more nourishing, anyway. Michael listened to the low tones with which Ryan talked, the pleasant island accent washing over him. He found out that Ryan was learned beyond his own craft, having been taught to read and write and satisfy his own curiosities as well as he could. He was certainly curious about Michael, hanging on every word the god said with rapt attention, eyes glowing in interest. It was some hours until dawn when one of Michael’s tales – the creation and delivery of Achilles’ armor and the many stories of his interference during the Trojan War – came to a close, and Ryan was looking at him with a warmth that was more than platonic fraternity.

“Can I ask you something, Michael?”

“Of course,” the other replied, setting his glass down. He had finished two bottles of wine on his own, Ryan only drinking a glassful in all this time; the man was definitely in his right mind when he leaned forward and, fingers trembling somewhat, put a hand on Michael’s.

“Did you only visit me to bless my craft?” he whispered, voice acting like a caress over Michael’s body; he had to repress a shudder.

“Yes,” Michael said, and he grasped Ryan’s hand before the other could tug it away. “But I never thought you would be so handsome, or so enchanting.” They drew closer, the heat that remained at the core of Michael’s being was spreading outwards, and perhaps Ryan could already feel that heat, a taste of what was to come: “Can I spend the night with you?”

“What’s left of it?” Ryan asked with a mischievous smile. He stood, then, coaxing Michael to follow him, and he led him to the other side of the room, behind a curtain. There was a basin, a set of drawers – and the bed, covered in quilts and looking if not regal then rather comfortable.

Michael turned and pulled the human towards him, tugging him down to share the first of many kisses. Ryan gasped against his mouth, the first spark of lust Michael had for him acting like the initial spark of a fire; humans were warm, but this god _burned_ for him, and he pulled away, afraid of being harmed. Michael’s hands on the side of his face were hot in the same way, but Ryan belatedly realized he didn’t feel pain, or smell smoke or char. The heat of Michael’s touch was intense, like he had been standing a hair breadths away from a flame, but unlike anything on Earth there was no cusp to fall from, no moment where the sensation turned from pleasurable to unbearable. His lips tingled from the warmth, his whole body flushed from the embrace.

Michael was watching him carefully, looking up into his eyes. Ryan had no doubt that if he were to pull away, Michael would let him go, wouldn’t force the mortal though he could. But while the sensation was strange, he had no intention of stopping. There was _something_ about him, beyond his divinity, beyond even his looks, and after only a moment’s thought he was pressing forward again, their lips meeting.

He kissed Michael – him, kissing a _god_ – and carded fingers through those thick curls. He could feel the other smile against him, walking them towards the bed until Ryan’s legs caught on the foot of it and he fell onto the mattress, thick blankets providing additional softness. Ryan needed those quilts during the winter months, for it nearly became freezing some nights, but now, with Michael’s steady gaze searching his body, Ryan doubted he would be getting under those blankets tonight.

“Show me…” Michael started to say, but Ryan needed no encouragement: quickly undoing the sash that held his clothes together he undressed, flinging his robes away and hoping that the confidence of his actions would hide his own trepidations. He never expected company like this, certainly not from an immortal presence. He may have been ideal a dozen years ago, but now he was more than thirty; was Michael expecting his own Psyche to claim? For a frightful moment Michael stilled, eyes drifting along his naked body, and he wished to cover himself from the penetrating stare. He nearly flinched when Michael’s eyes flickered back to his own, the two meeting in a suspended instant.

“You’re beautiful,” Michael murmured, moving to straddle Ryan’s legs. “How have I never known you before now?” He leaned forward, running rough fingers along Ryan’s face, brushing at the beard along his jaw, tracing thin lips with his thumb. The touches left persistent warm spots on Ryan’s skin, making his face flush an adorable shade of pink. Michael smiled at him, the expression open and kind. “I believe fortune is on my side.”

“Why?” the other breathed out.

“You could have been a teacher or hunter instead, but you found patronage in me, sought me out, led me to you.” He pressed his lips to Ryan’s neck, and the man jumped at the connection – the warm sensation lingering at his throat even after Michael had gone to lovingly trace along his chest. “Surely… your teacher _had_ you, didn’t he? I can only imagine what you looked like younger.” Ryan turned even redder at that.

“I, lived with him, yes. He taught me _everything_ ,” Ryan said, stressing that word in a different way than before. Would Michael judge him for not being a virgin? For having experience as someone’s beloved? He wished that his own self-taught knowledge had more to do with divinity and their behaviors. “T-There were other suitors, too, and women who I might have married, but – well, I’m not so young now, and they’ve gone onto others,” he said, matter-of-fact. “As you said, I was certainly a prize at one point.”

Michael’s hand stilled on his face, his lips drew into a grimace. “Fools,” he nearly spat out. He carried on, in a gentler tone; “You misunderstand me. You’re breathtaking, now and then. Could the Ryan as a youth impress me like the Ryan of today has? I doubt it,” he put on a self-assured smirk that made Ryan’s chest tighten with affection. Encouraged by the god’s words, he reached up, trailing his hands from the base of Michael’s throat to touch underneath his clothes. He received the curious licks of heat along his fingers and knuckles with a wondrous sigh.

The action jarred the god enough that he started to undress, revealing more of that tantalizing pale skin. Ryan’s palms nearly itched at the strange heat. “And I trust you know what to do?” Michael asked with a raised brow, finally tossing his clothes to the side and pinning Ryan onto his back with his own body, leaving small, burning kisses along his neck.

With no more barriers, their leaking cocks rubbed together. Ryan let out a small moan, too distracted with the sensation to answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders, feeling that fire settle wherever he and Michael touched. He wondered if he would ever get used to it, or if he would eventually be consumed by the flame within the god, but even that train of thought faded when he noticed Michael drifting down his body, kisses trailing from his chest to his stomach, hands skimming along the man’s sides.

“Michael?” he gasped out, noting the other’s glazed look as he took hold of his cock. The heat was dizzying on such a sensitive part of him, and he could just barely hold back a whimper. When Michael wrapped his lips around the head of Ryan’s flushed head, however, he cried out the god’s name, reaching for a fistful of dark hair.

Michael’s mouth was hotter than a mortal’s, all the fire he commanded residing inside him – he thought the _touches_ were burning, but this molten wetness on his shaft, scorching him with carnal pleasure, made him throw his head back in ecstasy. He didn’t even know what he was saying, only that words and moans were escaping as Michael sucked him, tracing teasing fingertips along his balls, spreading his thighs so the god could settle fully between them.

Hearing Ryan talk had been pleasant, but having the man underneath him, calling out Michael’s name desperately as he begged for more, now _that_ was absolutely heavenly. He would never grow tired of hearing it. Ryan’s large hands ran along the back of his neck, into his curls, pulling insistently but not too hard, silently goading Michael to do _more_.

And how could he deny this precious human anything? He slipped further down his shaft, throat swallowing the other’s impressive length with ease while Ryan shouted at the ceiling, arching off the bed at all he was feeling.

He couldn’t last any longer even if he wanted to. “M-Michael,” he started, “Please I – you’re… fuck, gonna come, _Michael_!” Ryan gasped out, toes curled and knees lifting up as he gave in, shooting into Michael’s mouth until his whole body trembled.

Michael petted his stomach, his hips, letting him relax before slipping Ryan’s softening cock from his lips. The human was gazing down at him, looking both exhausted and hungry at once. Insatiable, then, wasn’t he? Michael licked his lips at the thought.

“That was…” he breathed, reaching out for Michael to join him, apparently intent on showing the god _exactly_ what he thought of that performance. Michael got to his knees, his own cock hard and aching. “Do you want me to –” Michael shook his head, and spit Ryan’s come into his hand before bringing it between his thighs. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but he had a feeling that Ryan didn’t keep any sort of oil by his bedside now that he lived alone – he probably thought he’d never have the need for it again, and the thought brought a frown to Michael’s face. Of course now wasn’t the time to parse out feelings, but in the short time he had known the man laying beneath him, he could honestly say he felt more than mere physical lust for him.

“You’ll fuck me, won’t you?” Michael teased, in an effort to bring the two of them to more satisfying matters. His voice was husky now, a result of taking Ryan so deep, and the human was clearly transfixed as he watched Michael’s thighs glisten from that slick he spread between them. “I know you can go again,” he added, slowly running the tips of his fingers along Ryan’s cock – which gave already gave an interested twitch at the contact.

“I can, I will,” Ryan said. “And bring you off as well.” He surged forward once Michael had finished, and pulled him down so they were pressed together once more. Ryan pressed his mouth everywhere he could reach, a hand cupping the back of Michael’s head delicately as his other hand trailed and scratched down the planes of Michael’s back. “I still can’t believe,” he said between frantic kisses, “That I was… Out of everyone, you came to me,”

“You prayed for it,” Michael answered, holding the man close and soaking up the attention greedily.

“People pray for many things. If I had known what I do now, maybe I would have wished for you to visit me like this instead of a simple blessing,” he joked, a small smile on his face, “I can hardly believe this is real,” his eyes were tinged with wonder as he said that, and again, it made Michael’s stomach twist uncomfortably. The human under him was a walking beauty, didn’t he realize? If Michael could only have this one night with the blacksmith, he knew that he would create automatons and living statues in his image for centuries to come.

He didn’t say _that_ , of course. But he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out: “If I had known that you lived here, I would have made you my apprentice myself, and taken you away before anyone else could lay a finger on you,” He turned his head and kissed the exposed wrist of the other’s hand, nuzzling against the palm at the side of his skull.

Ryan swallowed thickly, clearly not expecting Michael to say that. “Really?”

“I swear it. You would be my favorite student,” he added, as Ryan shifted beneath him. Michael moved with him, and felt the human’s hard cock nudge against his thighs. He grinned wickedly, and clenched his legs around the other’s shaft, entrapping him in that slick heat. “Though I have the feeling we would be doing this more than any actual work,” He watched in delight as Ryan failed to fight down a blush once again; his cock was practically throbbing now. “But there’s no time like the present, don’t you think?” he murmured, kissing just below the human’s ear. “Fuck me, Ryan.”

“Yes, Michael,” his hand moved to grasp at the god’s hip, flipping them over so that Michael was on his back, cock resting on his belly and thighs still squeezed around Ryan’s cock. He sighed in relief when Ryan started to move, thrusting into that impossible heat between his legs. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he had indulged in this sort of thing, but it hardly mattered now, any names and faces of past paramours disappearing in the presence of this man.

“Fuck, Rye–” Michael was cut off when Ryan wrapped his large hand around Michael’s aching cock, rubbing expertly beneath his head and slicking his shaft with the precome that had collected at the tip. They rocked into each other in perfect rhythm, and even though he had only just been touched he could feel his eventual orgasm pool in the pit of his stomach. But he couldn’t think to be embarrassed by that, the pair of them could never be shameful or wrong when they were entwined together like this.

He stared up at Ryan, tantalizingly squeezing strong thighs around him with every forward snap of the man’s hips, wanting him closer and closer, to never part. The aching desire he had for this one human in particular drove him to dizzying heights; the fact that Ryan could so easily have him wrapped around his finger just for attention like this. He had such a need for that strong grip along his arms and back, for these words and moans in his ear, for that impassioned look in his bright eyes – it all made him falter, pressing his forehead into Ryan’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. “Ah, ah, _fuck_!” he cried out, shaking in Ryan’s grasp as he came _so easily_ , his whole being shrinking and expanding to try and right itself and make sense of what was happening to him.

“C-Come for me, Ryan,” Michael gasped out, voice breathy as he tried in vain to control himself. His muscles quivered so much he had to push his thighs together with his hands to give Ryan enough heated friction for those last final strokes.

“F-fuck…” Ryan brought his own arms up to pull Michael in for a searing kiss, biting at his bruised lips as he neared the end;               Ryan stuttered to a stop against Michael, not bothering to hold back a moan as he finally came, hot and sticky between Michael’s legs, his arms wrapped tightly around the other’s neck. Michael’s cock was still twitching lazily against their bellies, their pulse echoing loudly in their ears.

Ryan blinked, mind sluggishly starting to work again. In that moment, with the two of them together and messy and far too pleased with what they had done, the figure underneath Ryan wasn’t immortal, nor was he an unreachable ideal. He wasn’t even a god – he was just Michael, and even if it was only for tonight, he was just Ryan’s. A small smile spread over his features as he felt Michael rub his back in slow circles, and he pressed his lips to his shoulder. He could hear the other man speaking softly, but exhaustion had finally worked its way into his body and he could only sink deeper into a reverie, then a doze, and then finally sleep.

               

III.

Ryan awoke with a start, confused when the sun wasn’t in its usual spot on the wall but instead trailing across the floor, hinting at a much later time of day than usual. He relaxed on the bed for a moment, replaying the day’s events. Average work load, commissions…

Michael had visited him. The god. They had dined together, then shared kisses, touched into the dawn. He made love to a god.

And now Michael was nowhere to be seen. He slowly rose from bed, and the tenderness along his neck combined with the evidence low on his stomach revealed it was far more than a dream, but Michael was still gone. Perhaps that’s all it truly was, a night of fun; certainly gods indulged in that sort of behavior all the time. But Ryan had sworn he saw something behind the usual heat of the god’s stare. Something more sincere than lust, more lasting than curiosity. His heart heavy, he washed himself and dressed, pulling back the curtain of his bedroom.

The hearth had been lit, preventing Ryan from being woken from the chilly temperatures. It was something at least, one last gentle caress before Michael left, though it was nothing compared to the embrace of last night, and Ryan stared deep into the embers until his eyes watered, feeling colder than ever.

His stomach rumbled, drawing him out of his thoughts. He sought something to eat, but realized his impromptu feast had ran through his meager supply of food, so he went out into the garden, where several fruit trees grew.

That was where he found Michael.

Ryan stood in the doorway, watching Michael bask in the sunshine, sitting on a small bench that was set up against the back wall of Ryan’s home. Was he truly there, or was it his imagination producing the image of the gorgeous immortal, sitting with his dressings loosely around him as he dreamed in the sunlight?

Michael’s eye cracked open and he tossed something at Ryan’s head. Scrambling, Ryan fumbled with the object for a few seconds before getting a firm grip on it – and his racing heart. He looked down and saw it was a pear, plucked from one of the trees.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Michael’s voice crooned softly, body turning towards him in a silent invitation to join him on the bench. Ryan complied, coming towards him and feeling timid once more. Everything seemed so different in the afternoon sunlight, and Michael’s status as an immortal, as the deity that made armor, thrones, and weapons for the gods, as the being who commanded fire and forge returned like a punch.

Ryan sat on the bench, if only to get ahold of his panicked breathing. He ate his pear in silence, mind in a frenzy, not even taking notice of the juice that trickled from his lips until Michael leaned forward, brushing it away with his thumb and staring up at him as he did so. Ryan let the stem – the only remaining part of the fruit – fall from his hand onto the dirt.

“I –” Michael leaned up and kissed him, and the warmth against his lips was familiar and disorienting all at once. But when the god pulled back, Ryan was no longer cautious or scared. He knew where he stood.

He reached out, pushing Michael’s curls back and cupping his cheek. He gave the other a smile. “I thought for sure you’d gone,” he said gently.

“Me? No,” he grasped at Ryan’s other hand and kissed his fingers before interlacing them with his own. “I never thought I would encounter a mortal like you.”

"Like me?”

“I meant what I said last night, every word,” the god said earnestly. Ryan had to physically restrain himself from reacting.

“Michael…” Ryan started, a tad breathless, bringing Michael in for a series of frenzied kisses along his lips, cheek, jaw. He lovingly kissed the clusters of freckles, both eyelids, his brow, and by the end his mouth tingled from the heat. When he drew back there was mirth in Michael’s eyes, like he was silently laughing at him, but it brought a similar expression to Ryan’s face.

“Now, those commissions you have –”

“They can wait,” Ryan said, waving a hand dismissively.

“They won’t have to. I did them all for you.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Why? Do you think I’m incapable?”

“No, of course not. But, distracted, I’m afraid. You’ll have to take a short holiday from your work.”

His brow arched higher and he failed to suppress his grin. “Oh? For what purpose?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Michael said in a carefree tone. “A god came down to bless every inch of you, and he intends on being thorough.”


End file.
